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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791264">Smooth River Stones: Monadnock</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus'>Dracoduceus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smooth River Stones [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Cyberninja's Trust Issues, Depression, Discussion of Torture, M/M, attempted memory recovery, referenced brainwashing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:54:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyberninja was created as a Doll, a being not quite human but not quite omnic. It rose from the ashes of a man once called Hanzo and is left in his wake, trying to find its place among people that only see Hanzo when they look at it. </p>
<p>They're learning, though. And if they can learn to not see Hanzo in it, then it can learn to be something other than a very broken Doll, or the ghost of a man that no longer exists.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smooth River Stones [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>77</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The name "Monadnock" (and "<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460886">Orogenesis</a>") is from me being a nerd and aggressively keeping to a theme. Also called an inselberg, a monadnock is an isolated rock hill, knob, ridge, or small mountain that rises abruptly from a gently-sloping or virtually level plain. If the inselberg is dome-shaped or formed from granite of gneiss, it can also be called a bornhardt, though not all bornhardts are inselbergs.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hanzo darted across the training room, moving faster than one might expect from someone of his bulk. But he moved quickly in a short burst, nearly catching up to Tracer, who Blinked out of the way in a flash of blue.</p>
<p>It hadn’t been her that he was aiming for. Instead, he leaped to the top of a half-wall and with an ostentatious flip that had the golden tail of his hair ribbon spinning, he put an arrow to his bow and drew the shimmering blue string to his cheek. Hanzo did something that made the arrow, when he released it, scream as it curved impossibly.</p>
<p>It arched around a corner, striking a training bot in the face; the bot fell, sparking and twitching, as Tracer pulled out her pistols and darted through the opening that the damaged bot created, peppering the remaining ones with distracting fire. One fell to her fire as the other sprouted an arrow that caused it to collapse in a sparking, twitching heap.</p>
<p>“Cheers,” Hanzo said in his dry way, but there was a slight smile curling his lips.</p>
<p>Tracer laughed, giddy with adrenaline, as she darted down the alley cleared of training robots. “Don’t go stealing my lines!”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hanzo assured her solemnly as he darted at a wall. Without a hitch in his step or a nanosecond of hesitation, he looped his bow around his shoulders and scrambled up the single-story wall, hopping over the edge without slowing his pace. His bow was back in his hand as if by magic, and he continued his quick pace over the rooftops.</p>
<p>“Target in sight!” Tracer called over the sound of her pistols echoing off the false walls of the simulation. “Heading toward you, Hanzo!”</p>
<p>Hanzo grunted and smoothly leaped over a gap between buildings, scrambling up to the ridge of the roof, looking around for their target. His dragons, sensing his intention, sparked and swirled over his left arm.</p>
<p>He heard Tracer curse and the loud report of a gun that sent shivery echoes bouncing off the walls of the simulator. The target was more important; instead of running toward Tracer, he raced along the rooftops until he could hear the loud footsteps of a man running.</p>
<p>Looking at the walls, Hanzo smiled. The dragons rose in swirling arcs over his arm; as he skidded down the side of the simulated tiles, he whispered the familiar phrase to summon the dragons. Though he often yelled it in the field, it wasn’t a necessary thing so long as the <em>intent</em> was there.</p>
<p>As he cleared the roof, he released the dragons down the narrow alley to where someone stood, waiting. They swept through him in a spiral of blue and as Hanzo landed, he heard a laugh.</p>
<p>“Hey there,” McCree said as he tapped his revolver—a similar model to Peacekeeper that was modified for practice fire simulations—against the underside of Hanzo’s chin. “Looks like you got me.”</p>
<p>Tracer skidded around the corner. There were bright dots of paint over her visor between her eyes, and one between her collarbones. “You wanker!” she yelled. “You don’t get your ‘happily ever after’ after that shot!”</p>
<p>Laughing, McCree looped an arm around Hanzo’s waist. “I don’t know,” he said. “Kinda looks like I do. Besides,” he winked and shot her a finger gun with the arm not holding Hanzo. “I got you fair and square.”</p>
<p>“Athena,” Cyberninja said. “Please stop the simulation.”</p>
<p>The scene froze and it approached the frozen shapes. McCree’s face was frozen halfway through saying something; one eye was half closed, and the shape of his lips contributed to his face looking comically and disturbingly distorted. Hanzo was in the middle of hiding a smile but in the high-definition cameras that Athena had used to capture every angle of the simulation, it was clear as day.</p>
<p>As was the soft fondness in his eyes as he looked at McCree. Cyberninja wondered if that was what love looked like; it wondered what it felt like, to love and know that it was loved in return.</p>
<p>Behind them, Tracer was jabbing a finger toward them as if angry but she was laughing too as paint dripped down her light armor. There was a hint of her afterimage, as if the simulation had been paused as she Blinked closer.</p>
<p>It looked back at McCree. The lines around his eyes, nose, and mouth were no longer quite so deep and there was a smile in his eyes as he looked at Hanzo. Captured here in this split second, even with his face twisted and morphed into something strange and unflattering by virtue of the way that Athena had paused the recording, the love that doomed him to suffer by Cyberninja’s side was plain.</p>
<p>“Athena,” it said into the silence of the training room. “When was this recorded?”</p>
<p>The AI hummed. Pixels nearby fluttered into view like falling petals. It coalesced into a human-ish shape that flickered for a moment before disappearing as if Athena was unsure of creating such an avatar.</p>
<p>“<em>It was taken three days before Hanzo was taken,</em>” Athena said. “<em>Do you want the exact date?</em>”</p>
<p>Cyberninja looked at Hanzo’s hook-lipped smile, barely-there on a stoic face, and shook its head. “That will not be necessary, Athena.” It paused. “Please play the rest of it.”</p>
<p>The recording resumed. McCree laughed as Tracer called him a dirty cheater, as Tracer scolded Hanzo for encouraging him. She didn’t seem particularly upset though, and it noted that it had been correct to identify the spark of mirth in her eyes.</p>
<p>“<em>There are only two more minutes of the recording,</em>” Athena told it. “<em>Is there something that you’re looking for?</em>”</p>
<p>It said nothing as the recording ended. The ghosts of the past, recreated in holographic pixels, disappeared. Turning, it returned to the main console and looked at the records. It tapped at one of them that had a note that both Hanzo and Genji were in it. “It would like to see this one.”</p>
<p>There was such a long pause that it wondered if Athena regretted offering it to let it look at the training simulations. Then shapes began to form in midair, coalescing into Hanzo and his brother Genji, frozen in time.</p>
<p>“<em>I must warn you, Cyberninja</em>,” Athena said somberly. “<em>This particular recording is not a training exercise.</em>”</p>
<p>It considered that. “Then why is it recorded?” it asked diffidently.</p>
<p>Athena paused again. “<em>It is my responsibility to record any…combat here,</em>” she said carefully. “<em>It is for safety reasons as well as for training purposes. Should anyone be hurt, the footage can be reviewed to find out what happened.</em>”</p>
<p>Cyberninja looked at the frozen, pixelated forms of the two brothers. Hanzo’s spine was stiff, his head held high; Genji was lower, well braced as if ready to dart away in a flash of green. Then it paused, wondering why it associated such a color with Genji.</p>
<p>Perhaps, it concluded, it had something to do with the green lights peeking out from beneath the collar of his loose hoodie, or perhaps some lingering Recall of a wild, green-haired child.</p>
<p>“Is that not what happened here?” it asked, though it could immediately tell that this recording covered an argument. Though it knew that Hanzo was an excellent fighter, having watched videos of his training, he wasn’t braced or in any way prepared for an attack.</p>
<p>And judging by the way that they seemed to be frozen mid-sentence—Genji, like McCree, ending up with a strangely distorted face—it had indeed been an argument that was beginning to escalate.</p>
<p>It looked closer at Hanzo. Here he looked like a statue, firm and unyielding, his fists clenched. Perhaps, like those statues, he resembled a general standing before the enemy, ready to face the horde; in comparison, Genji looked as if he didn’t know whether he wanted to fight or flee.</p>
<p>“<em>No,</em>” Athena said at last. “<em>It was not.</em>”</p>
<p>“What were they arguing about?”</p>
<p>Athena seemed to hesitate. “<em>Their history</em>,” she said at last. “<em>From my understanding, Hanzo seemed to be the more traditional of the two, and seemed to take comfort in repetition—even if those gestures and those rituals were…painful, or came with unhealthy associations.</em>”</p>
<p>“Such as?” it asked, curious.</p>
<p>Once more, the AI hesitated. “<em>I do not typically disclose this,</em>” she said reluctantly. “<em>A person’s own traumas are their own and I respect their privacy. However…this was very much a public affair.</em>”</p>
<p>It looked at Hanzo, who stood so proudly, and wondered how he must have felt. Was he a private person that did not want to air his personal affairs? Or did he simply not care? It was hard to tell and though it insisted that it was not him, it still wondered, had a strange fascination with him.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Athena,” it said instead. “Please play.”</p>
<p>Athena seemed relieved to do so, and the ghostly images of the past began to move and speak in a language that it didn’t understand. But just because it could not understand the words did not mean that it could not understand their meaning.</p>
<p>Genji’s words were meant to cut like knives; Hanzo’s wall was crumbling beneath the onslaught. The leash on his temper was fraying beneath Genji’s attack.</p>
<p>“Athena,” it said as the brothers continued to speak, Hanzo in a clipped voice and Genji in one that was edging on desperation. But desperate for what, it could not say. “When was this recorded?”</p>
<p><em>“It was recorded shortly after Hanzo arrived on base,</em>” Athena replied.</p>
<p>Someone must have entered the training area, because Genji’s head snapped to the side. His shoulders somehow seemed to both slump with relief and tense up again, as if unsure of the newcomer.</p>
<p>Then it heard a familiar voice that sent a sensation of almost-pain through its chest cavity. It had been some time since Jesse McCree had left, and yet it still missed him as if it was missing a part of itself. Even with the time that had passed, it couldn’t decide <em>why</em> it missed him. Was it a lingering bit of programming that yearned for his authority? Or did it sincerely miss him?</p>
<p>Athena had been kind enough to offer it this indulgence, to show it recordings of Hanzo—and of Jesse McCree. It was not <em>truly</em> comforted, but it eased that strange pain in it. Memories of Hanzo and Jesse McCree together were both soothing and painful as well, because it could see the love between them like a tangible thing.</p>
<p>If it watched them enough, if it <em>looked</em> hard enough, it felt as if it could almost <em>see</em> that thing that they called love, the thing that had settled like a noose around Jesse McCree’s throat and had dragged him down in the wake of Hanzo’s death.</p>
<p>But now, that look wasn’t there. Replacing it was something like hate. It turned and saw the ghostly image of a very different Jesse McCree stomp closer. Hanzo’s chin rose, his shoulders shifting as he subtly braced himself for another onslaught.</p>
<p>“Y’ listen here, <em>Shimada</em>,” Jesse McCree said in a voice that Cyberninja had never heard him use. “You’re on thin fucking ice—"</p>
<p>“So you keep telling me,” Hanzo said, his lips twisting into a slight sneer. “And yet I’m still standing.” There was a kind of relief to his words, and it wondered if the part of it that was still Hanzo vaguely remembered the exchange, as if his ghost was following along.</p>
<p>But then, Hanzo’s ghost had never been present before, and there were no such things as ghosts.</p>
<p>“Listen here—” Jesse McCree moved with frightening speed, crossing the distance between him and Hanzo faster than it expected. But Hanzo was faster.</p>
<p>Hanzo was faster, and Hanzo was <em>angry</em>.</p>
<p>There was a strange kind of brittleness in the way he held himself around Genji that all but disappeared around Jesse McCree. He moved, shoved the other man against a wall.</p>
<p>Then they were brawling, throwing punches and kicks and headbutts. There was a flash of a knife, the sound of Jesse McCree’s heavy prosthesis cracking the cement. Through the ghost of Athena’s memory, it could see a small section of the ground that was a different color than the rest—the remaining scar of this brawl.</p>
<p>Suddenly, a large hand reached in and bodily pulled Hanzo off, picking him up as if he were an unruly toddler. Hanzo was held against an armored chest, as a giant mountain of a man—Agent Reinhardt, it realized—appeared in Athena’s recording. Brigitte, holding a sparkling shield, slipped between Hanzo and Jesse McCree, shoving the latter back; Jesse McCree was also held by the gorilla commander Winston, who easily restrained him.</p>
<p>“Athena,” Cyberninja said and she immediately paused the feed.</p>
<p>It walked closer to Jesse McCree. He was held firmly in two of Commander Winston’s big hands so that he couldn’t move; his prosthetic arm was frozen in a claw, as if reaching for something to crush beneath its mechanical strength.</p>
<p>It looked down at its own prosthesis. Compared to Jesse McCree’s, it was smooth, looked more like a human hand; lifting both arms, Cyberninja compared them and short of the material and color, they looked very alike.</p>
<p>Putting its arms down, it looked at Jesse McCree again. His nose was clearly broken, and he had a black eye that was visible even in the slightly-transparent, blue-tinged recreation of the situation. Blood ran in a messy web over one eye from a cut over his eyebrow, and more trailed from a corner of his mouth and from both nostrils. He bared his teeth, which were stained with blood, like a wild animal.</p>
<p>“Did they love each other?” it wondered. From what it had understood, love was a soft thing and yet…</p>
<p>“<em>Not at this time</em>,” Athena assured it quickly. “<em>At this moment in time, they were each other’s enemies. They hated each other.</em>”</p>
<p>It considered that. “How could they love each other if they hated each other?” it asked.</p>
<p>Athena was silent for a long moment. “‘Heav’n has no rage, like love to hatred turn’d,’” she said, with the air of quoting something. “<em>Things can change; </em>people<em> can change</em>.”</p>
<p>“And what of AIs?” it asked boldly. “Or Dolls?”</p>
<p>“<em>Anyone can change</em>,” Athena told it firmly. “<em>But there needs to be a catalyst.</em>”</p>
<p><em>Like a human becoming a Doll</em>, it thought to itself but didn’t say out loud.</p>
<p>“It is satisfied,” it said even though it really wasn’t. “Thank you, Athena.”</p>
<p>“<em>It was my pleasure,</em>” Athena said. “<em>Zarya has been looking for you</em>,” she added. “<em>She is in the gymnasium.</em>”</p>
<p>It nodded. “It will go.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Hanzo always skipped leg day,” Zarya told it as she carefully led it through a series of stretches. “We will not do the same with you.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t certain that it understood “leg day”, but from her gesture to its legs, it thought that it was referring to leg exercises. For a moment it considered the phrase but ultimately decided not to remind her that its legs were no longer Hanzo’s.</p>
<p>“You have lost some muscle mass,” Zarya said. It was somewhat amused to note that she sounded like she was personally offended by it. “I am sorry to compare you to Hanzo, but you do still have his body, and it is evident that we have been slacking. No longer.”</p>
<p>She said something similar every morning that they worked together and it appreciated the consistency. It hadn’t realized that it craved some kind of pattern until she took over as its “handler”.</p>
<p>Zarya had made it very clear that she wasn’t<em> not</em> its handler, but had nonetheless filled a similar role. She was working on easing it back into life on base, instead of keeping it separated from everyone. They had all been briefed quite thoroughly on Cyberninja’s situation—as if they hadn’t already been aware of its presence—and knew what roles they needed to fill around it.</p>
<p>It was frustrating and made it feel as if it was strangely fragile, but it appreciated it because those briefings meant those that it hadn’t interacted with wouldn’t call it “Hanzo”. From its understanding—and Brigitte’s recount of the meeting, held in the relative silence of her workroom—it had been made very obvious that Hanzo was dead.</p>
<p>A part of it felt bad at how upset it made the small team, but it was true and it was tired of repeating it: Hanzo was dead and would never return. It wasn’t a matter of <em>recovering</em> Hanzo, or <em>rehabilitating</em> a Doll; Cyberninja was injured and malnourished but didn't need to be <em>fixed</em>.</p>
<p>Which was why it was “given” to Zarya. She and Baptiste would regulate its diet to make sure that it kept up with its human body’s caloric needs and to bring it back to fighting condition. The team hadn’t yet decided if it would be allowed on missions, but at least they would make sure that it was fully functioning at capacity.</p>
<p>The slow pace frustrated it, but it understood when it tried to lift something that it knew it <em>should</em> have been able to lift but wasn’t able to. Zarya hadn’t looked necessarily <em>pitying</em>, but she had at least looked determined to get it back to fighting strength.</p>
<p>Which was how it got to now, slowly stretching and working its muscles. Zarya was a world-champion weightlifter and online fitness trainer—if anyone on base could make sure that it gained weight and muscle at a healthy rate, it would be her.</p>
<p>When it finished its stretches, it looked up to find her looking pensively at it. “I do not want to presume that you want a similar regimen to Hanzo,” she said. “Or if you have your own preferred training method. But now is a good time to start thinking of how you would like to train.”</p>
<p>It hesitated. “It was used,” it said slowly. “It was a tool to deal death; it did not matter how.”</p>
<p>Zarya hummed. “Well, I suppose that our first course of action is to decide how you would like to proceed.” She gave it a reassuring smile. “You do not need to train for combat, so for now we can focus on whole-body fitness. That will be easier to get you in shape, anyway.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t sure how to feel about that. For as long as it could remember, it was used for combat. To not be used in such a way was…strange.</p>
<p>At the same time, a part of it was relieved. It realized that a part of it didn’t <em>want</em> to be used as a weapon again; now that it had this most dangerous option, it could <em>choose</em> to fight or kill. The many voices that begged to be allowed to live would not have to repeat themselves: it could <em>choose</em> to obey their pleas.</p>
<p>The thought was dizzying.</p>
<p>A part of it hated the freedom of choice. What if it chose wrong?</p>
<p>But choosing to <em>defend</em> rather than attack, always attack…it liked the thought. Most likely, Overwatch would realize that it was best served as a weapon and return that status to it, but it would enjoy the brief reprieve, even if it was only during training.</p>
<p>Zarya clapped her hands and flexed her big arms. “Are you ready?”</p>
<p>It looked at her scarred face, her confident smile, and found itself nodding. “Yes,” it said. It realized that it meant it. “It is.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Its time on base without Jesse McCree became routine.</p>
<p>When it powered on, far earlier than anyone was awake to witness it, it went to the kitchen and fueled up with a bowl of “congee” that it warmed on the stove. Then it took a small snack of cut fruit (which Ana prepared for it the night before) and visited Athena in the simulation training room to watch recordings of team training events.</p>
<p>After watching the ghosts of Athena’s memories fight and train together, it visited Zarya for its first training of the day. Then “brunch” with Zarya and Ana, and gardening with Bastion. Ana and Agent Reinhardt would bring out lunch and Cat would join them sometimes, hiding behind a few boxes with a bowl of her own. Brigitte would sometimes join them as well, covered in grease and dust from her own projects.</p>
<p>The days that Brigitte would join them, Cyberninja would go and help her with her afternoon projects, usually carrying things and rearranging her workshop to her liking. Zarya had deemed that such exercise was enough for Cyberninja to participate in, and cut back their later training as a result.</p>
<p>If Brigitte didn’t join them, Cyberninja would continue to garden with Bastion until Zarya collected it for an afternoon of light training. Then, Zarya would fuel it up again with another small meal and Zarya would instruct it to wash and change into new clothes. Done, the two of them would join whoever was on cooking rotation.</p>
<p>Cyberninja would fuel up yet again, and Agent Tracer would join Cyberninja, Ana, Agent Reinhardt, and Agent Mei outside for stargazing. They managed to coax Cat closer, but Agent Reinhardt’s exuberance often scared her away, much to the large agent’s vocal disappointment.</p>
<p>When it tentatively suggested that it hold Cat, Agent Reinhardt assured it quickly that he really wasn’t upset. He had such an earnest, bittersweet expression on his face that it looked away. From the bushes, Cat hissed at him but poked her head out to squeak at Cyberninja.</p>
<p>After stargazing, they all went inside. Ana would show it how to cut fruit for its morning snack, and then it would be sent to its room to power down.</p>
<p>It appreciated routine. Having a routine meant that it didn’t need to choose or think, both such dangerous things.</p>
<p>Because if it allowed itself to choose or think, it wasn’t sure that it would choose this kind of life.</p>
<p>If it was to choose or think, it thought that it might have instead chosen a life as a Doll, if only because it would mean that Jesse McCree would be by its side.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What is its purpose?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow, it’s been a hot second since I updated this. So sorry. I’d had a hard time chipping away at it but recently I was able to write a good chunk of it. Hopefully the next chapter won’t take as long.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you want to watch hand-to-hand combat practice?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Athena asked one morning as it considered her vast catalogue of training videos. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I have one saved of a group session.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It considered that. “Yes,” it agreed and a different room appeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This was from last year,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Athena explained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hanzo was leading the recording and it watched him, feeling as if it was watching a past life and aching to remember. Slowly, it curled its hand into a fist in the way that Hanzo was demonstrating in the recording. It remembered the motion; it was familiar to its body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Many times it had gone through such motions; it remembered the ghost of combat and, rarely, the many times it had been told to go undercover. When a new personality had been “uploaded” into it and it had been sent to be someone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It paused. Was that what had happened? Sometimes it wondered. Was everything just another “ghost” of those dead personalities? Was Hanzo real?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was Cyberninja?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think,” Hanzo said in the recording and it glanced at him. He was instructing Zarya, who was standing so rigidly that Cyberninja thought that she could so easily be knocked over. “Just be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wondered if Athena had been trying to tell it something, but decided that the AI certainly could not read its processor. But it was good advice, it thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don’t think; just be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So it sank into a fighting stance that was as familiar as its own body, and moved.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“We need more operatives,” Commander Winston said tiredly. “There’s no two ways around it. We’re running thin and…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside it, Ana hummed. “We need new blood,” she pointed out. “All of us, save a few, are old hands at </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> particular game. We need someone new to shake things up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The world isn’t meant to be saved </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> us,” Soldier: 76, who sat across the narrow table from Ana, said. “Maybe not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>by</span>
  </em>
  <span> us,” he mused, and the table went quiet. “We’re all old hands at this; this is our life, and all that we’ve known. There’s no reason that we can’t be involved, but this is not our battle to lead. It is a battle for the future—one that we can be a part of, but not one that is to be catered </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commander Winston looked pained. “But…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That does not mean that we cannot fight,” Agent Reinhardt said in a voice that was much softer than Cyberninja was used to hearing from him. “But we cannot be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> faces that the world sees.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hana shrugged. “What’s wrong with a little hero worship?” she asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not that,” Ana said, and it turned its head very slightly to look at her. “It’s that we need to think of the future. One day, we will all die. Even today, we are a reminder of the old days and the old way of doing things. People like Torbjörn, Reinhardt, Soldier: 76, and myself are all reminders of the Crisis.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t forget Dr. Ziegler!” Agent Tracer said. “The two of us were there for the old Overwatch, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Ziegler shook her head. “No, I see what they’re saying,” she said. “Yes, Lena, we may have been there, but we had a different role. We weren’t the heroes of the Crisis, we began to represent a new idea.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, Commander Winston began to nod. “You, Winston, and Lena, and Angela, are a part of a new group,” Ana said. “And while you have the old hands here to help, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> new blood. You have a start with Zaryanova—” Cyberninja was amused by the face that Zarya made when Ana used her full name. “—and Hana Song, but you need to look for young leaders. People that the world can get behind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “Lena, you and I still represent the ‘old’ way of doing things,” Dr. Ziegler explained. “We are the </span>
  <em>
    <span>old</span>
  </em>
  <span> Overwatch. Yes, we may have many awards to our name, and there may be millions around the world that know our faces, our names, know everything about us. And while we may still be fighting for what we believe is right, and while we may still be fighting for a better world, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> is that better world for?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looked at Agent Tracer whose face scrunched up as she thought. “Why can’t we fight for </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she asked. “Equally?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are we fighting for the past?” Zhou Mei-Ling asked. “Or the present?” Again, Agent Tracer’s face scrunched up. “Or are we fighting for the future? Are we fighting to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make a better world</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or to maintain the world we currently live in?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Tracer opened and closed her mouth a few times as that seemed to sink in. She tilted her head down and seemed to think deeply about what she was told. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re relics of an older age,” Dr. Ziegler said quietly. “And so many of us are heroes of the Crisis, something that we need to move forward from. You and I are a relic of the old Overwatch, heroes of a time that was reeling from the Omnic Crisis. We were a part of the Golden Age of Overwatch, the shining heroes that came to pick up the pieces.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unbidden, Cyberninja’s thoughts turned to Jesse McCree. Somehow it knew that he hadn’t truly been a part of that. It wasn’t quite his nature; it was very certain of this fact, but couldn’t explain, even to itself, why. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what?” Agent Tracer asked a little hotly. It couldn’t blame her—the conversation was making its processor grind. “Are we putting an age limit? Must be between ages 21 and 23 to join?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hana popped her gum loudly, and it glanced at her. “No,” she said and placed her comm device screen-up on the table. “We just need to be more selective, and we need to know where to look.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can’t ask just </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fight,” Commander Winston said, even as he reached for the device. Hana helpfully scooted it within reach and he grunted a thanks as he picked it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which is why I suggested him,” Hana said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commander Winston hummed. “They are not our enemy,” he protested after reading what was on the screen. “And to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> them our enemy would be akin to suicide.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be nice to have some context,” Soldier: 76 said gruffly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hana jerked a finger at her comm device. “Lúcio...um...I can’t remember his last name or the order it’s in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lúcio Correia dos Santos,” Commander Winston read, carefully enunciating the name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Hana said impatiently. “He fought against the Vishkar Corporation when they wanted to tear down the neighborhood he grew up in. There are more nuances to it, where Vishkar sought to enforce a kind of order over the people—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Commander Winston cleared his throat. “But Vishkar is a multinational company,” he said. “If we publicly support this Lúcio, then that means that we are publicly </span>
  <em>
    <span>against</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vishkar Corporation.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It sounds like,” Zenyatta said suddenly. “That we must think of who or what we are opposing. Are we opposing a singular entity such as Talon, or are we </span>
  <em>
    <span>supporting</span>
  </em>
  <span> a better world?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The table went silent, all eyes on Commander Winston. He sighed, ran a big hand down his face, and lobbed the comm device back at Hana, who caught it with a scowl before it could hit the table. “I will consider this,” he said gruffly. “Meeting dismissed.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“What did you think of the meeting?” Brigitte asked as it helped her around her workshop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looked at her. “It is not meant to have opinions or thoughts,” it said automatically and she gave it a crooked smile. It hesitated and weighed whether it should answer. Ultimately, it said, “Fighting without cause is just fighting.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte hummed. “I see what you mean,” she said. “I grew up hearing all about Overwatch. Reinhardt was always over; so was Dr. Ziegler. They were family friends of pappa, so I always heard their stories. When I grew old enough, I studied to be an engineer and joined Reinhardt on his trips around the world. He had a motto—well, still does. Have you ever heard it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sat down on a chair and gestured for it to join her. Carefully, it eased itself on the stool across from her. Even knowing that it was very sturdy—it had seen her stand on it multiple times without it creaking—it looked so rickety that a part of it thought that it would break beneath its weight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He had a mentor when he was young,” she said, leaning back against the edge of her desk. She arched her back, stretching her arms over her head, and it heard her spine crack. From her sigh, it felt good so it said nothing about its sudden concern that she had injured herself. “Balderich von Adler. He was Reinhardt’s commanding officer. From what I had heard—Reinhardt doesn’t talk about it—he had tried to get Reinhardt on the right track but hadn’t quite been able to do so. Not until he died.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It carefully considered that. There must be a reason that Brigitte was explaining this, though, so it listened intently despite its confusion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is one thing that Reinhardt says very often,” Brigitte told it, tilting her head down to look at it. “‘I will be your shield’. You haven’t been in the field, so you won’t hear it. Balderich taught him that before he died, and Reinhardt takes it to heart. But from what I know, Balderich also taught him something else, and this is the motto by which Reinhardt seems to live his life.” She sat up and leaned forward. “‘Live with honor; die with glory.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once more, it carefully considered her words. “To live for glory,” it said slowly. At her encouraging nod, it continued its thought. “One dies without honor. But to find what is worth dying for, is the way to die with glory.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte gave it a shaky smile. “Shortly before we answered the Recall,” she confided in it. “We visited Eichenwalde and he showed me Balderich’s final resting place. I heard the story from him for the first time. It is not my place to tell you that story—you’ll have to ask Reinhardt for that—but those six words are written on his heart and in time, I want them to be written on mine.” She put a hand on her chest as if feeling her own heartbeat. “They will mean different things to different people, and even knowing the full story, I know that they will not mean the same thing to me that they mean to Reinhardt.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looked at her, at her relative youth, and wondered if anyone else saw this wisdom in her or if they simply saw the child of a hero. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But...Soldier and Ana were right. This is not </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> fight, or a fight for </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> world. It is a fight for a world that comes after.” she looked at Cyberninja, who was momentarily surprised by the intensity in her eyes. “So what will </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> fight for?” she asked. “That question,” she added quickly but no less sincerely, “is not necessarily meant to be literal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unable to meet her eyes despite knowing that she was not trying to sway its decision, it looked down at its mismatched hands, folded on legs that were neither Cyberninja’s nor Hanzo’s. It was created and honed by Talon, given sanctuary by Overwatch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought back, what felt like decades ago, to the small metal orb that Zenyatta had given it. How he had said that it allowed him to look at the world in balance. It remembered the warmth of it cupped in its mismatched hands, how it burned with violet and golden light like flame without heat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the degradation of its programming, it no longer had perfect recall, but it could still vaguely remember Zenyatta’s words: “The orb in your hand is an interesting tool. It allows me to understand the balance of discord and harmony, of positive and negative, of the balance of the world.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honor and glory; discord and harmony. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought back to Reinhardt’s words explained through Brigitte. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I will be your shield.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Live with honor; die with glory</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did not seem to expect a response, which was just as well because it would not know what to say. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>It wondered what it was to live with honor. Hanzo had a code of honor, he had to and never before had it felt so...disappointed to not know such a detail. It was not its life for it to know such things, and yet it felt as if a piece of itself was missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps, Bastion suggested tentatively when it expressed this to them, it is because it did not have a purpose. A machine—omnic, human, or Doll—that had no purpose was always lost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It did not like such thoughts, but it knew that Bastion was correct. “What is its purpose?” it asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bastion didn’t know and warbled a consoling sound that, in the language of omnics, translated to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>do not worry because it will be alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though it was not comforted—not needing such sentiment—it thanked Bastion anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it asked Ana, she gave it a crooked smile. It wondered if she knew that Brigitte had a similar smile, quietly self-deprecating and it wondered what thoughts they had when they gave such a strange smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“People can spend their entire lives searching for a purpose,” she said kindly. “Some people think that such a purpose is pre-ordained—that they are made with one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It carefully considered that. “Like omnics,” it suggested. “Or Dolls.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ana shook her head. “Not quite,” she said. “There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>function</span>
  </em>
  <span> and there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>. An omnic might be built to be a soldier, or a surgeon, but that is not their </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The concept frustrated it. “Function and purpose are the same thing,” it said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To some,” Ana agreed. “But not really; why else would there be two words for it, if they are the same thing?” It had no answer to that and Ana gave it that strange smile again. “Do you know what Zenyatta’s function was? What he was built for?” It wasn’t sure if it should discuss what Zenyatta told it, so it simply nodded. If Ana knew as well, she gave no sign. “He does not do the same thing now that he was built for, does he?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought about Bastion, who was clearly built as a war model, and how they cared for their little friend Ganymede and so carefully looked after the plants in the garden. Perhaps that was what Ana meant by purpose and function. It was frustrated that it had such a delayed understanding of such a concept that should have been easy to grasp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it really was broken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A person—human, omnic, Doll—can have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>function</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but to find their </span>
  <em>
    <span>purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a journey,” Ana said and then laughed, looking down at the cup of tea cupped between her palms. “Some can search for their whole life and never find it. Sometimes, the purpose they think they find is not worth the cost.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had the feeling that she was trying to tell it something, but it couldn’t grasp her meaning. For the first time, Cyberninja wished it could meet Hanzo. It wanted to speak to him, to understand what its purpose is—nevermind that they were not the same person.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nevermind that it was not Hanzo and never would be, just as it did not want to forever live in his shadow. At the same time, it wanted that bit of guidance, some way to know where he had been moving so that it could decide how to proceed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It suddenly occurred to it that someone might be able to tell it more about Hanzo. To ask would lead to others believing that it was Hanzo, or was “recovering” some of Hanzo’s memories, but it realized that it truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to know and didn’t know what to do about that realization.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it…would like to know about Hanzo,” it said to Brigitte the next time it saw her. “Who could answer its questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte gave it an odd look. “You might lead people to think that Hanzo is coming back,” she pointed out gently. She was always so gentle with it, and it didn’t know how to react. It would not break beneath her words, but at the same time it appreciated the softness in her voice and eyes as she spoke to it. She was not a Doll—and it hoped that she never would become one—but she spoke to it as if she understood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps, it mused as it thought of their conversation about Legacies, she did. Or she understood something like it. Not being a Doll, but being a broken one the way Cyberninja was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is aware,” it said. “But…” How to describe its thoughts? What it wanted? How did it say that it wanted to understand Hanzo so that it could learn what </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She continued to look at it thoughtfully, that same strange look in her eyes. “I can’t answer a lot,” she said. “I really didn’t know him very well, but maybe…if you ask me first, I can tell you who can answer your questions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought of Genji, who claimed to be Hanzo’s brother, and hoped that he would not be on the list of people to talk to. Most likely he would be, as he was apparently Hanzo’s relative, but it hoped that it could bear to avoid it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It has some of Hanzo’s memories,” it admitted to Brigitte. “It does not understand them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte’s face twisted. “You should be careful who you tell,” she advised as if it didn’t already know. “People might say that Hanzo is still there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It shook its head. “He is not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Brigitte said simply. “What do you remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not know,” it admitted. “It does not remember the order. It remembers its—</span>
  <em>
    <span>McCree</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It remembers McCree proposing to him. Sometimes it remembers Overwatch. Sometimes it remembers children.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte frowned. “I don’t think Hanzo had children,” she said slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were not Hanzo’s,” it said immediately and somehow knew enough to also add, “he did not have any.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, Brigitte nodded. “What were these children doing?” she asked, sounding curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hesitated. “There was a pond,” it remembered. “And a pregnant woman kneeling beside it with a little boy. They were feeding the birds.” Brigitte smiled slowly as if experiencing the Replay as well. “It has memories of a little girl as well. It thinks…” it trailed off and Brigitte nodded encouragingly at it. “It thinks it was a memory of when Hanzo was young.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You would have to ask Genji for more details, then,” Brigitte said. “If it really was when he was young. None of us would know anything about it—I don’t think even McCree knew too much about his upbringing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It nodded and she gave it a sympathetic smile. “It remembers the little girl,” it added, unsure why. “She got in trouble.” It remembered the person standing over her, features smoothed away by time, and the way they had grabbed her little wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte’s smile faded. “Perhaps they had a sister,” she suggested. “Or a cousin. You would have to ask Genji.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not want to,” it admitted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t blame you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fell silent as they sorted tools. Brigitte called it over to hold items as she welded them and she laughed at the way its borrowed welding helmet sank low on its head before they both fixed it to fit properly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone had a different relationship with Hanzo,” Brigitte said quietly as they watched Zarya come to collect it for an afternoon of light exercise. “So everyone would give you a different response. Even his own brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t respond as Zarya was too close. This time it didn’t stagger beneath the hearty slap she gave its shoulder strut, and she grinned at it. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s see what else you’ve got.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Hanzo?” Zarya asked when it was just them in the training area. “He kept to himself. Why?” Her eyes were sharp as she peered at it. “Why do you want to know more about Hanzo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It continued its brisk jog on the treadmill for a moment before saying, “It does not understand where to go from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want to learn about Hanzo, that’s fine,” she told it. “But you and I know that you are not Hanzo. Learning about him can be dangerous—it can put you on that path.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully, it dismounted from the treadmill and looked at Zarya. “On what path?” it asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You say that you are not Hanzo,” she said. “And I believe you, because you know yourself better than I do.” It didn’t, though. It didn’t know who it was, except that it wasn’t Hanzo. “But asking about Hanzo’s life could potentially lead you down a road where you try to follow it.” She hesitated. “At the same time, it is not my place to make some assumptions. Perhaps you are simply curious.” The last was said as if to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It has some of Hanzo’s memories,” it admitted carefully, watching her expression. “It does not understand them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded. “And you want to know what they mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They were important to him,” it said. “It…does not feel correct to know such things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zarya frowned. “Most of us do not know much about Hanzo,” she said, just as Brigitte had told it earlier. “He was famous—just like McCree—for…ah…</span>
  <em>
    <span>speaking without substance</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You could feel like you could have an entire conversation with him and yet he would not have told you anything you wanted to know. Not unless he wanted you to know it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was fascinated. “Why?” it asked. “Why would they do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Secretive types,” Zarya said with a bit of scorn. It thought that she was more frustrated than upset with Hanzo or McCree, but it wasn’t sure how she truly felt about them. “McCree was a spy once. Black ops. Hanzo was…” she hesitated. “He was the leader of a gang,” she said carefully. “He was also a spy. A sniper.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought about watching the recorded videos with Athena and realized that it could probably ask her as well. “It saw a video,” it said slowly. “He used a bow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He did,” Zarya confirmed almost wistfully. “He was amazing at it, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They fell silent and Cyberninja climbed back on the treadmill, eyeing the moving belt before jumping on, returning to its brisk jog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suspect,” Zarya said, crossing her arms over her chest. “That there were things that they did not want anyone to know about themselves. Maybe they told each other or maybe they expected to die with those thoughts, those secrets.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought but didn’t say out loud that if that was true, Hanzo had gotten his wish.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“He didn’t like talking about himself,” Hana said that evening when it tentatively asked her. “But he would sometimes share things that hurt less. At least with me. Sometimes when he was here late at night, he’d tell me things that hurt more.” She popped her gum and without her saying, it knew that those secrets she would keep to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It saw some of his memories,” it said slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squinted at it, rolling her wrist—and the wrench held in her hand—in a slow circle. “About what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, it thought about the scene at the pond. Of the pregnant woman, the little boy. It thought about the little girl. Slowly, it told her what it had told Brigitte and she nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The little boy was probably his brother,” Hana said. “Genji.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It considered that. “It cannot be,” it said slowly. “The little boy was not mechanical.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was not always mechanical,” Hana said as she turned back to her Meka. “Just like you did not always have…non-human parts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once more, it considered that. It was true that a large portion of its body (that it was aware of) was human, even if it was not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hana popped her gum again. “What happened is public knowledge,” she said. “But instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> being the one to tell you, I think that is a conversation that you should have with Genji.” Somehow, she must have known that it did not like that idea because she added, “You can always ask someone to go with you when you ask.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That hadn’t occurred to it and it paused. “A Doll does not ask,” it said carefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But a broken Doll could,” Hana replied without looking at it. “Hold my leg?” It stepped close and braced her hip with its dominant hand and held her ankle with the other as she twisted and leaned up and under her mech. “There’s no good way to reach this section,” she said, her voice muffled. “So we have to twist our way in. I’m smaller than Dae-Hyun so I have to do this—and I know how to do it better than he does, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were quiet for a moment and when Hana began wiggling, it eased her out of her mech to stand on the stool. She looked down at it and patted the top of its head. Then, in a move that surprised it, she tucked the wrench under her arm and cupped its face in both of her small hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It froze, unsure what to do as it looked up at her. Hana’s face was twisted thoughtfully and her thumb moved along its facial strut beneath its eye. Then she pulled away, that strange look gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The touch reminded it so much of McCree’s, that soft way he looked at it that it found its body aching. It missed him and felt guilty for forgetting that pain—if it was indeed pain that it felt at his loss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It could feel the ghost of Hana’s touch and put a hand to its face. “Come,” she ordered and took its free hand, tugging it along. “You should go to bed. You had a long day today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Confused, it followed her and the insistent tugging of its hand down the halls. She dropped it off in front of its rooms and told it to go to sleep. Despite not being ready to power down—and despite her not being its handler—it obeyed and walked inside.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Athena,” it said as it met with the AI the next morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good morning, Cyberninja</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Athena said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What would you like to see today?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hesitated. “Athena, what does it mean for a human to hold another’s face?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a long moment, the AI was silent. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Can you elaborate?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Last night it spoke with Agent Song,” it said. “She held its face in her hands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hanzo used to do that with her</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Athena replied, much to its discomfort. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>As a means of calming her down. She would often return the favor if he visited her as well. Many might interpret it as romantic affection, but that was not the relationship that they had.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It considered that. “How might that be seen as romantic?” it asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An image formed in front of Cyberninja. The image then split into a dozen iterations of the same: two people, one held close by the other. There was one near Cyberninja that was of Hanzo and McCree and it approached that vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>McCree’s arm was looped around Hanzo’s waist while his prosthetic hand cupped Hanzo’s cheek; Hanzo’s pose mirrored McCree’s and the both of them were smiling. “Where is this from?” it asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hanzo and McCree were on a mission together</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Athena replied. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>They had to pose as a married couple. As a joke, the team threw them a mock wedding.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cyberninja twisted to look first at Hanzo’s face, then McCree’s. It recognized the look in McCree’s as the look that he always wore when thinking of and speaking of his husband; it was startled to realize that the look on Hanzo’s was its mirror image.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stepped away and watched as the images slowly faded away. “You said that Hanzo and Agent Song had a different relationship,” it said. “How so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Athena seemed to hesitate. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I believe that he saw her as a little sister,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But if they discussed it openly, I have not heard. Nor would I be at liberty to say such things.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It thought of the little girl in Hanzo’s Replays. She did not look anything like Hana, and it did not know if they acted alike, but it wondered if Hanzo could see such similarities. Did he have the same problem that most of Overwatch seemed to? When he looked at Hana, did he see the little girl from his Replays?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you well, Cyberninja?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Athena asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” it lied. “It would like to see hand-to-hand combat sessions again.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Maybe one day we’ll get out of the “extended prologue” phase and into the main part of the story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Are you bored here?” Agent Tracer asked as she sat down and opened her bottle of water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not very familiar with Agent Tracer. Once Zarya thought it “fit” enough, she began to incorporate others on the team into their group sessions. From there, it knew more about Agent Tracer, but she likely did not realize just how broken it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not feel boredom,” it said carefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Tracer made a face. “Wrong choice of words,” she said and twisted her face into a strange expression. “Is there more that you want to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Doll does not want,” it said automatically even as it thought about the missions it used to go on. While it did not particularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoy</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, it was better than wandering around the base. As much as it enjoyed gardening with Bastion and spending time with Hana or Brigitte or Ana, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once more, Agent Tracer made a face. “I bet you’re not used to sitting around like this,” she said instead. “Hanzo didn’t like to sit around—not that any of us really do—so I imagine you have a similar urge. Bet Talon had you running all over the place.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t a question so it didn’t answer. Fortunately, Agent Tracer didn’t seem to need one; she drank deeply from her water bottle and set it aside, hopping to her feet. “Ready for more?” she asked. “Let’s do a few more laps.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Obediently, it followed Agent Tracer back to the rough track drawn in spray paint in the grass. Time began to wear it down to dirt and a part of it was inordinately pleased to see something give way to it, even if it was something as meaningless as grass. It would wear it down until it was just bare dirt beneath Cyberninja’s feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of it wondered if it should be concerned by such thoughts. It worried that it would become like Talon, like Doomfist and the other handlers it had in the past. The ones that </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoyed</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurting things—Dolls or humans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately, it did not need to think to run so it didn’t, following Agent Tracer around the simple track. Occasionally, she would disappear in a flash of blue light. The first time she had done so around it, it had been alarmed and had stopped, ready to fight a potential threat. It had taken some explaining to understand that the blue flash was a result of the device strapped to Agent Tracer’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The explanation they had given it was that Agent Tracer needed the thing on her chest to keep her in “current time”. It wondered what would happen if it was removed from her body. Would she continue to blink in and out in flashes of blue light? Would she even notice it? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of it knew that it knew the answer to that question, knew that that answer came from Hanzo, but it still didn’t know what that answer was, which frustrated it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It resisted the urge to shake its head, as if doing so would shake loose those un-Doll-like thoughts. The thoughts—and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings</span>
  </em>
  <span>—were coming more often now, and more urgently ever since its handler—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesse McCree</span>
  </em>
  <span>—had left. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After some time, it learned what “hunger” and “thirst” were and it did not like that empty feeling in its fuel systems, or the about-to-burst feeling in its core when it consumed too much. It could feel “tired”, which it did not like. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>wondered</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it recognized the voice of its own thoughts; it had more words to describe emotion so now it had a word to put to what it felt at these new changes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It did not like having these thoughts and feelings and a part of it ached, almost a physical pain, to be a proper Doll again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was so good about this “freedom” that everyone wanted it to have? They would tell it to “feel free” to do something, instead of ordering it to eat, or exercise. How could it explain that it did not </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel free</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sit with them because it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> free; it was a Doll, who was not meant for these thoughts?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even now, its thoughts weighed on its mind, a new phrase it had learned as well. Thoughts had no physical presence and yet these thoughts about freedom, thought, and emotion felt heavier than the weights that Zarya used to help it bring itself to fighting capacity. Those at least it could bear to lift or carry; these thoughts were constant and </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausted</span>
  </em>
  <span> it more than it had ever thought possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ready to go faster?” Agent Tracer asked, jogging beside it and breaking it—however temporarily—from the weight of its thoughts. She didn’t wait for an answer, picking up her pace and it lengthened its stride to keep up with her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rather than think the thoughts that threatened to weigh it down again, it focused on running, on the feeling of the ground beneath its pedes and the extension of its legs and the movement of its arms. It focused on keeping up with Agent Tracer and staying at a consistent pace as she appeared and disappeared in flashes of blue light. Her erratic appearances and disappearance were jarring, but it didn’t want her to know how broken it was so it said nothing of its discomfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penny for your thoughts,” Agent Tracer said, and it immediately thought of the way that Jesse McCree had said the same thing to it. It almost hurt to hear the same words in a different voice. “Do you know what that means?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a brief moment of hesitation as Agent Tracer got over hearing it speak. She always paused like that, especially when it referred to itself as “it”. A part of it enjoyed her discomfort; another part hated that part of it that found joy in the faces she made and the long pauses when she tried to speak to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem…troubled,” she said carefully. “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A Doll does not want,” it said automatically and left it at that, because Agent Tracer was not Brigitte or Hana or Zarya or Ana. She did not know it and it did not want her to know how broken it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, what use was a broken Doll? It knew its value and where it stood. It would not hesitate; it would not feel fear or pain or hunger or thirst. It would keep walking forward even if it was off a cliff, into a field of mines.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What use would it be except to be a drain on resources? Even if they still believed that it would become Hanzo, its use was wasted running around a dirt track and gardening. They needed it in the field, whether they gave it pretty lies of allowing it to choose not to fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not feel,” it said and Agent Tracer huffed, sounding frustrated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t know why I bother,” Agent Tracer said under her breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not know either,” it said boldly and she twisted to look at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hanzo was the same way,” she said a little bitterly, supporting what Zarya had told it. That Hanzo and Jesse McCree both “spoke a lot but said nothing”. “It was hard to be near him, even when you’re just trying to be friendly.” It said nothing as they made another turn in the makeshift track.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, Agent Tracer veered off and it followed, confused despite itself. “Let’s go for a run off the track,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It considered the time. Zarya would be coming out to check on it soon, but she</span>
  <em>
    <span> had</span>
  </em>
  <span> left it in Agent Tracer’s care for these runs. At the same time, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do something other than run around in the same worn circle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that it would question Agent Tracer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The path that Agent Tracer took them on was rougher, the dirt giving way to rock and gravel. It was pleased that there was challenging terrain, having grown bored of treadmills and flat tracks. Now it had to adjust its stride to avoid larger rocks or roots sticking out of the ground and had to move around a large divot filled with muddy water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air felt different too, as if there was a different quality so close to the base. Agent Tracer led them across a wide field overgrown with weeds as high as Cyberninja’s hips, following the narrow gravel and dirt path—really a road that was clearly not used very often—toward the trees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It could see areas in the field where there appeared to have been trees. They seemed rather young, judging by the width of the stumps, and it wondered if they had been cleared out to prevent operatives from sneaking up on the area. Certain areas appeared to have been trimmed back, though it supposed that such growth would be difficult to tame after having been given free reign for however long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, it wondered if it would be like those trees. If these pretty lies of learning to be who it wants to be, of being allowed to be “free” or to choose, were going to be taken from it. Would it be upset, as the trees were, to be cut down so suddenly? Or would it be a gift?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like shuttering its optics and slipping into a quiet stasis “sleep”. Would it be with relief? It must, because it could not miss what it did not remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then again, it was unlikely that Overwatch would mess with its programming. By their own admission, they did not understand what the Dollhouse technicians had done and had no information about how to go about repeating that process. They also had no interest, or so they claimed, to make such attempts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were the “good guys”, after all. It was baffled by their naivety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Tracer led it along the dirt and gravel road into the nearby forest, whose trees rose high toward the pale blue sky. The shade cast by their swaying boughs made the ground appear spotted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It followed Agent Tracer deeper into the words, watching her blink back and forth in flashes of blue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Annoyance</span>
  </em>
  <span> was another thing that it had learned to name, and it knew that it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>annoyed</span>
  </em>
  <span> by the flashes and warbles from her device. Something in it hated the noise of it in the quiet hum and whisper of the trees as if its noise was ruining something that Cyberninja didn’t understand but could nonetheless feel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> These feelings were deeply frustrating, but fortunately, running seemed to alleviate some of its frustration. It didn’t need to think to run, so it focused instead on putting one pede in front of the other in a steady, consistent pace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One side of the road opened up to a grassy area that revealed a view of mountains and valleys. Overwatch was evidently stationed rather high, as it could see a long way before the world turned into hazy purples near the horizon. Something in it was soothed by the sight, even if it could see the foggy outlines of a city skyline in the distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An eyesore, whatever that might mean. It was unhappy with it, but the rest of the view was such that it could overlook such a minor inconvenience. Much more minor, of course, than its annoyance with Agent Tracer’s noisy device. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Tracer slowed to a stop and it followed suit, watching the distant horizon. Unlike the last base, the sky was pale here, and the clouds were gauzy wisps smeared across the sky. Unbidden, another Recall played through its processor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hanzo was watching someone paint. The memory must have been an older one, so there was a good amount of degradation, seen in the way that the person painting was a shapeless blob. A hand held a little metal tool that was used to smear a thick white paste over a wooden palette smeared with other colors. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As it watched, the painter moved their wrist and a smear of white paste turned into blotches of white which then dissolved into the same kind of wispy clouds that it saw in the sky. It was amazing and the Recall was strangely soothing. For once, it wasn’t sure that it wanted the Recall to end. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, it blinked. The clouds of paint turned into the sky near the Overwatch base. Agent Tracer was looking at it and to its frustration, it realized that Genji was there as well. From the bent grass beneath one of the trees, he had been sitting there as if waiting for them. Now he stood in front of it expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It said nothing and hoped that Genji wouldn’t be able to tell that it was frustrated. For a brief moment, it contemplated turning and running back to where Zarya was surely waiting for it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of leaving Zarya waiting unsettled it. Would she come looking for it? Would she be worried? It did not like feeling worried, so it expected that others did not enjoy it either. She had been worried for it before, back at the old base. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It remembered her throwing her arms around it after its confrontation with The Reaper and how she had crushed it against her armor. While it also did not want to experience that crushing embrace again, it also did not want to see that terrified look on her face again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hanzo,” Genji said, and Cyberninja struggled with its frustration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is not Hanzo,” it said stiffly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Genji waved his hand, much like its previous handlers, as if to dismiss its words. It had seen Zarya and Ana do something similar during warm days, when insects would buzz around them. The motion was dismissive, as if the words it spoke and its reminder were irrelevant. The thought annoyed it to such an extent that it was an almost tangible feeling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t need to keep saying that,” Genji said. “I can sense the dragons in you; they would not react unless you are a Shimada—and you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had no idea what he was talking about so it said nothing. It remembered the dragons, though. They had felt like lightning, like rushing water. Whatever they were, it could still feel the effects of their strange attack, could still easily remember the brig being filled with blue light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Genji continued to speak, switching to a language that it didn’t understand. He seemed earnest, almost desperate. Agent Tracer watched nearby, her arms crossed nervously beneath the device strapped to her chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When it did not seem that Genji would realize that it didn’t speak that strange language, Cyberninja wondered if Zarya would miss it. Would she be upset? Worried? It did not like the idea of worrying her again—just like the memory of Hanzo’s strange blue dragons, the memory of her stricken face when she saw it in the brig was etched in its memory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(It also wanted nothing to do with Genji, or whatever he was saying to it.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hanzo,” Genji said and it deliberately didn’t look at him, letting its gaze slip back to the purplish horizon. In the distance, it thought that it saw a plane passing over the city it saw in the distance. “Cyberninja.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, it turned to face Genji. “You really think that you are not Hanzo, do you?” he asked and, in that moment, Cyberninja knew that it truly would never have its questions about Hanzo answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was surprised how…</span>
  <em>
    <span>sad</span>
  </em>
  <span> it felt. As if the very last parts of Hanzo were dying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> dying. It seemed to Cyberninja that the last people that knew Hanzo were Genji and Jesse McCree. Where Jesse McCree seemed able to let Hanzo go (even if he clung to Cyberninja), Genji seemed reluctant to believe that Hanzo was gone at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The feeling that Cyberninja felt was new, but it thought that it might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What went on in Genji’s processor that did not allow him to realize that Hanzo was dead?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must return to base,” Cyberninja said carefully, unsure how Genji or Agent Tracer would react.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, it wondered if they were trying to orchestrate a coup and was surprised that the thought made it upset. It would make sense to seek it out. This was what it was made for, after all. To infiltrate and destroy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wondered if they would attack it if it ran back. Would it be able to outrun Agent Tracer?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must return,” it said carefully, tense as it watched their expressions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Genji reached for it and it backed up, not liking the oily feeling of fear in its chassis. “You’re afraid of me,” he said wonderingly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” there was something hurt in his posture, in the way he held his helm and in the way his arm extended toward Cyberninja.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not feel fear,” it corrected automatically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You do,” Genji refuted. “Or you would not back up like that.” He took another step, and it backed up once more. “What are you afraid of?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is not meant to be touched,” it said. “Only by authorized personnel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Genji paused. “You need healing,” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It does not,” it said immediately. The oily feeling of fear came back, rising in its chassis. It backed up again, even though Genji hadn’t approached it again. Agent Tracer watched it a polite distance away and it wondered if either of them would do anything if it left. “It must return to Zarya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You called her ‘Zarya’,” Genji observed. “Why not call her your handler?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took another step back and this time Genji followed. “It was ordered to.” She must have, for it to call her by a name rather than a title. Right? It couldn’t remember, and it was afraid that it couldn’t remember and didn’t know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was afraid of Genji, who came closer, and it struggled to keep itself neutral. As Genji approached, it continued to back up until Agent Tracer said, “Genji, stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know who you are, right?” Genji asked, sounding like he was nearly begging. It had heard enough of it, could still remember the sound of voices begging for their lives even if it couldn’t remember the words or their faces. He sounded desperate and it was so very afraid. “Please tell me you do. Please tell me that you know who you are—and who I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the distance, it thought that it could hear voices and the rumble of engines. A moment later, the voices—and the sound of engines—were louder and clearer. They could all hear Zarya and Brigitte calling for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hanzo, please,” Genji said, his beseeching voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the engines. It backed up further down the road, toward the sound of the engines. “Brother!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It turned in time to see Zarya and Brigitte rounding the corner on a pair of ATVs. When she was just in front of it, Zarya braked and threw herself out, throwing her arms around it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once more it had made her worry and now disappointment warred with the fear in his gut. Despite trying to prevent it, Zarya was now clinging painfully to it as if afraid that it would disappear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not worry me like that again,” Zarya scolded, but when she pulled away she gave it a weak smile to show it that she really wasn’t upset with it. There was a looseness to her face that told it how scared she was, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte leaned against the handlebars of her ATV. “Don’t worry </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that again,” she said when it looked at her. Despite her words, she seemed much more put together than Zarya and it realized that to an extent, she had expected this to happen. That Genji would want to talk to it—and that it would consider speaking with Genji.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not anymore, though. It should tell Zarya—and, perhaps, Brigitte—about its concerns of a coup, but not in front of Genji and Agent Tracer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you run off like that?” Zarya asked. “I had thought that you would stay on the track with Lena.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agent Tracer walked into view with a shy little wave. In a flare of blue light, she “jumped” forward to stand near them. “That’s my fault,” she said, to its surprise. “I told him that we should go running off the track. He seemed to enjoy it for a bit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It wouldn’t respond,” Brigitte said. “You ordered it to follow you—or as much as it would register as an order. Or it would follow you because Zarya told it that you would be running with it. There are a lot of things. I expect that you were getting bored though, weren’t you, Cy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It realized belatedly that she was talking to it. But “Cy” wasn’t its name. It was confused, but she was clearly talking to it, so it said dutifully, “it does not get bored.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, it realized that it had slipped up. A Dollhouse technician would have noticed that its wording was ambiguous—did it not feel boredom? Or was it not bored? But Brigitte’s smile was open and easy, and Zarya patted its back and it thought that they had not noticed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go back with Brigitte,” Zarya ordered. “Fuel up and then we can go to the gardens with Bastion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of peace in the gardens, with Bastion’s warbling, was nice. Brigitte patted the back of her ATV and it dutifully climbed up behind her. “Hang on,” Brigitte said and it awkwardly placed its hands on her hips, clenching its legs around the saddle. She revved the engine and as Genji, Agent Tracer, and Zarya backed away, Brigitte turned the ATV around in a wide arc and began driving back to base.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not in trouble,” Brigitte told it when they were out of earshot. “We just got a report from Athena that you had left the premises so we had to check on you. Did you get to talk to Genji?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hesitated. “No,” it told her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Brigitte said simply and it realized that it wasn’t sure if it had wanted her to press more (“why not?”) or encourage it (“you should”). The very short ride back to the walled portion of the base was spent in relative silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Should it?” it asked so quietly that it almost expected it to be lost in the rumble of the engine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte turned her head slightly to look at it. “Only if you’re comfortable,” she said just as quietly. There was a hint of a sad smile on her face. “For what it’s worth, I think you were very brave this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brave?” it echoed in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte drove past the main doors where Dr. Zhou Mei-Ling was standing, watching them return. She waved at Brigitte but something in her expression closed off when she looked at it. It didn’t blame her, but it was also surprised at the feeling of hurt it felt when she turned away, clearly dismissing it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brave,” Brigitte said firmly, as if she didn’t see the exchange. She might not have, but Cyberninja had the feeling that she had. “You were very brave, Cy. I know that you didn’t want to speak to Genji like that, and it was bad of them to trick you out there.” To its surprise, she didn’t ask it what they had talked about. It was just as well, because it wasn’t sure that it wanted to talk about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then it wondered about its thoughts—its fear that they were planning a coup—and hesitated. “Genji wants it to be Hanzo,” it said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re not,” Brigitte said as they drove past the gardens to her workshop, and then into a small shed that it hadn’t noticed. It was big enough to only be able to fit the ATV, but now that it knew what to look for, it saw two more such sheds as they both dismounted and walked toward Brigitte’s workshop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte nudged it and it turned to look at her. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks,” she told it seriously. “You are you—whoever that may be. If you say that you are Cyberninja, then you are Cyberninja. That’s all there is to it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That certainly wasn’t true—that wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>—but it appreciated the gesture. There was no one nearby so it asked, “Why did you call it ‘Cy’?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a nickname,” Brigitte explained. “I can stop if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It considered that. “A nickname?” it echoed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte smiled. “It’s like another name,” she explained. “Sometimes it’s related to a name—like how people call me Brig instead of Brigitte—or sometimes it’s unrelated.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once more, it carefully considered her words. “The way that Zarya’s name is shortened?” it asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Brigitte said. “There are many kinds of alternate names. Zarya prefers to have her full name shortened to ‘Zarya’. There are pseudonyms or call signs, where people form another identity around themselves—like how Hana is also D.Va, or how Lena is Tracer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It nodded. “Its handler…</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesse McCree</span>
  </em>
  <span>…had a callsign.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte seemed surprised. “He always used his name with us,” she explained. “What was his callsign for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deadeye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, Brigitte nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. It’s slang, or so I’ve been told.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though it didn’t understand, it nodded. It hesitated as they began walking back to Brigitte’s workshop. “It was told to see Ana,” it said diffidently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte smiled at it. “Do you want me to walk you back? I can if you want, but I already ate before Zarya asked me to drive after you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It stared at her. “You would allow it to walk on its own?” it asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you need me to walk with you?” Brigitte asked kindly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte smiled. “Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> me to go with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It should not be alone,” it protested. “A Doll should never wander without a handler.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose that’s true,” Brigitte agreed. “But what if I told you that I give you permission to walk alone to Ana?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fear that had dissipated with Zarya and Brigitte’s presence returned. “It had left the boundaries that were set for it,” it said carefully. “It should be watched, not allowed out alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brigitte smiled kindly at it. “Okay,” she said agreeably, and it had the sudden feeling that they were having two different conversations. “Let’s go. I should probably get some water, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It looked at her sweet smile and found itself nodding as it followed her down the path.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Love it? Hate it? I'm curious what you think.</p>
<p>I also wanted to take a moment to thank everyone that has been leaving kudos and commends. I really do read all of them and they always make me smile. I love seeing your thoughts and your reactions to everything. It always makes me so happy to hear that you had such a reaction, or that you enjoyed something so, thank you so much! </p>
<p>Feel free to also come and visit me on Twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/dracoduceus">dracoduceus</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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